Ice. Burning cold on all my limbs. From head to toe. That's all I've ever known. I look around at the empty and solemn world I live in. Not that I'm actually living, anyway. The wind moans like a child looking for his mother, incredibly alone. I couldn't help but feel the same way. Snow of all sizes, from light dust to heavy hail, crashes onto the white ground from the lonely sky. The vast monochromatic gray void extends to what seems like an infinite distance. The strong wind whips in a frenetic, whirlwind-like chaos. My raw, red skin burns as the snow and freezing rain collide with my skin. The winter mix feels like shards of glass tearing at my skin. I try to move, but my joints were almost frozen due to the subzero temperatures around me. My fiery anger, overflowing with hatred towards God, might have been cooled by the Hyperborean atmosphere if my aching rib cage had not protected it. I breathe in the air, only to breathe in the snow, then cough violently to try to rid my body of the pure, white, burning flakes. "I hate you, you dirty tyrant!" I scream, squealing as more snow enters my lungs, burning them. I burn from the inside out and from the outside in. The intense pain would have been enough to commit suicide, if I hadn't already met my maker. Grabbing my arm as more fragments hit my skin, I notice burn marks. How could this happen, I ponder with curiosity, continuing to scan my body for mysterious burn scars. I don't remember anything about my past. “Who am I? What are they? Where am I from?" I cry out, hoping for an answer, only to be answered with tears freezing on my face. The White Hell would have been enough to replace my memories with pain, but not to erase my mind like a chalk...... middle of paper......ed, blood-curdling screams surround me and pain fills my head, giving me an indescribable headache. I'm not alone here for the ice, it is becoming blacker than before. I think, knowing that this is where the burns come from. The world is burning, but it never burns. only intensely colored stalagmites and stalactites covered in the flames of skyscrapers. These must be divine flames. They are not fueled by physical matter, but by the emotional and mental pain of the souls that torment. .. I wish... it was less hot... It's hot, I think, my memories of the ice slowly fading. Now I don't remember any pain other than the fire. My whole world, my existence now is fire and rage. Hell replaces and erases every memory I had before. This, this is my eternal torment.